


ping—pong._

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Comedy, Gen, Humor, Mind Control, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: It's Bright's turn to pick the activity for beer night with JT. It turns out to be a little unconventional — very Bright.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Mind Control.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	ping—pong._

“Did you know there’s a wrong crib?” JT complains, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

“Never looked — not exactly the childrearing type.” Malcolm fixes tea behind him.

“You’ve been fine with kids around me.” He shrugs. “Do your thing, bro.”

“Get someone else to pick it for you. Might be the perfect selection coming from her mother,” Malcolm suggests, pointing the used wooden stirrer at him.

“Nooo,” JT quickly shoots down. “Maybe my nana.”

“See, there ya go.” The stirrer goes in the compost bin.

“Do you do advice for blankets?” JT asks, desperate for any way to reduce the stress of what to add to their registry.

“I hear the swaddle is where it’s at. Works equally well on adults,” Malcolm adds, taking a test sip of his tea.

“Nope — talk’s over,” JT walks away toward the conference room.

“We’re still on for later?” Malcolm calls.

“Yes.”

* * *

In their once a month Thursday beers after work, it’s Malcolm’s turn to pick an activity that doesn’t involve him interrupting JT’s time with Tally at Amsterdam Billards on Friday. Malcolm leads JT into a place called _G-Fusion_ and books them a room in the back.

“A room?” JT questions skeptically. What exactly had Bright gotten them into?

“Trust me.” Malcolm tips his head at him in return.

“Nooo.” JT shakes his head, but follows anyway.

The room has two large monitors setup at either end of a short table and a large projection of both of them on the wall. It’s dark and lit in purplish blue, clearly typically used by a crowd much younger than them.

“We are not getting high,” JT comments, his eyes finding the violet fluorescent bulbs providing the uplighting in a blacklight fashion.

“Maybe _you’re_ not.” Malcolm smirks at him, his eyebrows wiggling.

“ _Bright_ ,” JT warns. He will cut this evening short. Now.

“Okay, okay, no cannabis,” Malcolm concedes. JT raises an eyebrow at the formal term. “But I can’t promise you won’t find this exhilarating.”

JT points at the table, conveying _get on with it_. Malcolm skitters around it, flipping on switches and putting on a headset.

“Prepare to play games with your mind!” Malcolm holds his hands in front of him in excitement like an evil maniac.

“Bright, I’ve had enough mind games with you,” JT complains, but he sits down in the seat on the other side of the table.

JT fiddles with the headset, needing to manipulate it a few times to get it to fit onto his head. “So what are we doing, that VR shit?” JT asks, as Tally had shown him they had team gatherings for that now.

“No — the headset would cover your eyes for that,” Malcolm points out.

“So, why do I look like a cyborg?” JT touches the plastic across his forehead and knobs fingering out on top of his skull. The ear pieces rest behind his ears for now.

“We’re gonna play _pong_ ,” Malcolm shares with more excitement than JT feels. A few clicks on the keyboard in front of him, and a basic black background with white paddles shows up on both monitors and the projection.

“You had your pick of _anything_ and you want to play pong?” JT’s shocked, just gaping at him.

“Tell me you didn’t play this as a kid.” Malcolm points at him, then the projection. It’s all super high quality equipment — better than what JT has at home.

“I did.” A _very_ long time ago.

“So we’re gonna play it again — with a twist.”

“Which is?” Patience is not something he can maintain with Bright. He needs less talking, more beer.

“Told you already. Mind control. Think left, think right, win.” Malcolm grins, pleased with his selection of activity.

JT has no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe the guy’s already high for all he knows. He pops the ear pieces on and familiarizes himself with the screen, figuring the sooner they get started, the sooner he can go home.

They’re presented with the option of brief tutorial videos, but JT’s ready to just dive in. Paddles in the center of the screen, _start!_ appears and deep base fills his ears, thudding behind their activity.

Nothing moves.

JT thinks left, left, a lot of left, left, left, and nothing happens. Tries the same thing for right, but it’s a similar disaster. He shakes his head in frustration and the paddle flies all over the screen, then returns to center. “Bright, this shit’s broken,” he retorts.

Malcolm’s paddle moves and the little white ball flies at JT’s goal line. _0 — 1_ — a sad trombone losing sound effect plays in JT’s headset.

Malcolm does it again, and hard as JT thinks, nothing happens to defend. _0 — 2_ — more defeated brass.

JT pops his head up over the monitors and pulls back the ear pieces. “What are you doing?”

“Winning.” Malcolm grins. JT’s never _seen_ so many consecutive smiles on the guy’s face.

“Seriously, this thing sucks at mind reading.” JT wants to pull the headset off, but relents.

“It’s not _really_ mind control. It’s an EEG that reads — “

 _Bright’s doing that rattling thing again_. “I’m better off not knowing.”

“Did you do the tutorial?”

“No.”

Malcolm spins his finger in the air, his eyes blown wide in excitement. “Go back — you have to train it with your thought patterns so it can read the electrical impulses of what is left and what is right.”

JT stares at him, not wanting to follow the directions.

“Trust me.”

“There’s that word again.”

JT puts the ear pieces back on and completes a series of requests to think left, left, left, right, right, right, again and again until he feels as if he’s losing it into the dark void of the monitor. _You’re never picking again, Bright,_ he thinks, but doesn’t hurt the guy.

JT looks up from the tutorial to Malcolm with his eyes closed, waving his hands in the air, bopping his head to some unheard beat. He gets into the game and finds Malcolm’s paddle flying back and forth, showing off his newfound mind control ability.

JT thinks left, and the ball releases, flying toward Malcolm’s side. _You’re gonna lose, Bright._ He smirks, pleased that he’s figured this thing out.

Malcolm’s too caught up in playing the invisible game in his head to counter JT’s move. _1 — 2_ — triumphant applause reaches his ears.

Sad trombone must have reached Malcolm’s, as his head pops up and eyes finally open. “Hey!” Malcolm exclaims. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Tough shit.”

They spend an hour shooting the little white ball back and forth, whooping when one scores, complaining when the other does, until the lights go up signifying the end of their time slot. They’ve each won and lost a lot, neither one of them having any idea the total score.

“JT.” Malcolm’s hand rests on JT’s shoulder. “JT, we gotta go.”

“But I’m on a roll.” JT shrugs away Malcolm’s hand and grouses, “Get that off me.”

“Maybe next time.”

JT doesn’t comment that _no way in hell does he want there to be a next time_ or that the _mind control shit is the dumbest thing he’s ever seen_. He just removes the headset, stands, and points for Malcolm to precede him to the door. “Beer’s on you.”

“‘Cause I’m the champion,” Malcolm beams, standing a bit straighter.

“No, ‘cause you got us into this mess,” JT refutes.

“You liked it.”

“Sure.” The genuine smile glowing on his friend’s face made the whole evening worth it.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
